<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>happy birthday, bellamy by anticipatedepiphany</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24153517">happy birthday, bellamy</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/anticipatedepiphany/pseuds/anticipatedepiphany'>anticipatedepiphany</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The 100 (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon Compliant, Clarke doesn't really understand the emotions she has for Bellamy, F/M, I like to make myself suffer?, Implied Bellamy Blake/Echo - Freeform, Nerd Bellamy Blake, kind of</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 19:46:57</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,650</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24153517</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/anticipatedepiphany/pseuds/anticipatedepiphany</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>You would think after 125 years and the recent distress of losing her mother, Clarke Griffin would have lost count of birthdays. But there's one she just couldn't bring herself to forget.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>61</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>happy birthday, bellamy</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>So, I did my research and apparently Bellamy's birthday is 24th November, although I'm not sure how accurate that is?</p>
<p>Either way, this is a one shot written for my friend SJ who DID have her birthday today. All the love to you; this is simply a small token for how much I appreciate you.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Nothing was okay.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Octavia was gone, fatally wounded with a woman they had last seen in the womb mere weeks ago taking her place. The world they had landed upon was torn after the revelation of pseudo-religion society looked up to was exposed, causing her own almost death alongside the demise of her mother.  </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Their limited number of survivors had retired back to the ship the morning after the ‘loss’ of Octavia: they needed time to strategize. They would spend a day mourning for those taken from them, they decided, and then they would proceed to address the ruins of Sanctum. Clarke Griffin, in her stereotypical manner, exerted herself to endless pages of research, rather than taking the allocated grieving period. The blonde feared that if she were to stop, even for a moment, the coalition of all her loses would stake her with an intensity she would be unable to recover from.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Unfortunately, the transport system laced with intel provided no kind of explanations towards an option c for her people: another planet to ‘try again’ and ‘do better.’ A part of Clarke was relieved. Even if there was another planet, a planet ‘Beta’ — they deserved better than the wrath of her actions. Than the Commander of Death, whose mistakes seemed to trail behind her as if they were her shadow.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There was one thing the blonde did find, however, that evoked the smallest of smiles upon her tear-stained visage. Cerulean orbs lightened as weak digits traced the spine of a worn edition of Ovid’s <em>Metamorphoses. </em>It consigned her thoughts back to the one soul who had experienced each chapter of her adulthood, whether it was by her side or in spirit, and somehow lived to tell the tale. If there was anyone she would have confided in regarding current events, it would have been him. The man who fought to keep her heart beating after it was destined to drum to its final beat. Alas, Bellamy was confined to his own demons. Even if it tore a small part of her conscience away she refused to address, she knew that he had the support from the one who he loved. The one who was there for him when she was supposed to be ash on an abandoned earth. The one who wouldn’t have left him to die in the fighting pit under the wrath of his sister. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Clarke had almost listened to the last logical piece of her mind until the date flashed on the console. By then, a mental barter had resulted in her emotions reigning triumphant and without hesitation, clasped the text, proceeding to the dorms. </p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>She was expecting the male to be in a similar state to her own. Seas of purple and black running further than usual under the lids of her eyes, hair astray in all kinds of directions from the countless times hands had massaged through the chaos of blonde frizz. However, Clarke was blissfully surprised to have the scent of soap fill her nostrils, the usual untamed curls slicked back as a couple of water droplets ran down his neck. The only thing the supposed shower couldn’t fix, however, was the mental wounds she knew he continued to nurse in the same way she bared her own. That, and the resignation that remained when hope once shone in chocolate irises. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Silence prevailed for a few moments. Clarke’s attention found itself focusing on the book rather than Bellamy, missing the slight brightening of his features due to her presence. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I know that this isn’t a good time.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The blonde started finally, testing the words on her lips. She couldn’t comprehend why she was acting sheepish all of a sudden, but the words escaped her in a dull croak of hoarseness from an evening mixed with outcries and tears. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“And I don’t know whether you guys decided to celebrate birthdays on the ring, but I remember you and Atom talking about when your birthdays were the first day on the ground and I. I remember thinking how stupid it was, how we were supposed to be finding Mount Weather and the two of you and some of the others were just talking about when you were born—”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Clarke was quick to stop herself, a wave of nausea surpassing her. Each delinquent in the memory recalled was gone; lost at the beginning of a war that none of them understood. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Anyway. Madi went through a fascination with birthdays one year. She… uh… overheard me wishing you a happy birthday on the radio the first year of praimfaya and wondered what I was talking about. Louwoda Kliron Kru didn’t exactly celebrate any of the old earth customs we learned about on the Ark. From then on, she insisted that we celebrated everyone’s birthdays that I could remember. We even decided on a date for her birthday. The day that we found each other. Obviously, we couldn’t do much, but it helped her to feel as if she knew you guys…”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Her monologue’s prelude was quickly interjected by a voice that, like her own, seemed to be a victim of strained chords. Either way, his voice brought an end to her uncharacteristic oversharing.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Wow. And here I was, thinking that the only thing on the Princess listened to on the first day were her own ideas. Turns out she listened about my birthday and remembered.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She glanced up to see the traditional lopsided smirk on his brims, inspecting her as if she had given him the universe in all its might when all she offered was a fatigued book with a broken spine. Of course, Clarke did not perceive such a glance and transcribed it as mere appreciation. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>His energy was infectious as it caused her spirits to lift. Even if it was temporary, it gave her the necessary strength to contradict him, leading the two into a spiral of disputations with a level of competitiveness that mirrored their primordial attitudes towards each other. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Actually, I was being smart. Ever heard of keeping your friends close but keeping your enemies closer? It’s Machia. . .”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Machiavelli’s <em>The Prince.” </em>He interrupts again.<em> “</em>I know, Griffin. I used to read it to Octavia to try and explain why Jaha couldn’t just forgive her existence and mom would be floated instead.” The smirk lowered as a reflective sigh escaped his diaphragm, reaching to the book from her loosened grip as she extended it to him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’m sorry, Bellamy.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Clarke had said the words before she had even considered them whilst Bellamy’s fingers carefully traced her own, shielding her hands as the heat from his own brought both warmth and signification that he understood her intentions, regardless of the provoked memories that would fail to help mend the aching of his soul. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I mean it.” She insisted, reclining to the edge of the bed as the two resided inches apart. It was only then that the true cracks began to show. As eyes scoured his features, Clarke noticed the slight reddening on his cheeks, declaring the abundance of tears that laid there more recently than she would have liked. The small physical sculpted on his chin previously concealed by his beard that he must have made an appearance in their six years distance. As soon as she saw him, she had decided to not comment on the fact that she’d shaved off his beard. She didn’t deem it her place to.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I know that Gabriel is out looking for Octavia, but tomorrow, I’ll help. We’re going to find her. I promise.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Clarke noticed the dilation of his pupils before his jaw tightened and his teeth grimaced, as if was waging a war with his thoughts, only to look away and officially take the book from her, prizing away his hands.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Thanks, Princess. I’ll hold you to that promise.” </p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Clarke did not hear anything else regarding Bellamy until she made her presence known in the makeshift canteen that evening, sitting by Raven’s side as the two had decided to put a halt on any form of conflict after the loss of the woman who acted as their motherly figure. The mystery of Octavia’s disappearance and the chaos of Sanctum would face a stronger chance of annihilation with the two working cohesively, rather than apart.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Hey, how’s Bellamy?” The mechanic finally enquired to Echo in an attempt to break the silence. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I don’t know. He was rough, and I mean, year one space Bellamy rough.” The others nodded in unison, knowing all-too-well of the behaviour she was describing, as a pang of guilt registered in Clarke’s mind and caused her to place down her fork. Was she the reason for ‘year one space Bellamy?’ Either way, the concept tore away her appetite. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“But then I came back from a shower and somehow he’d found some book? I still couldn’t get him to talk but he, as Monty would put it, was grinning like a cheshire cat over the thing and wouldn’t put it down.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Well, at least we know missing his sister didn’t repel the nerd.” Murphy coined, the situation failing to place a dampener on his sarcasm.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I mean, if it gets him out of year one space Bellamy mode then I guess we just have to thank whatever book enthusiast left it here in the first place,” Raven commented, before the group resumed eating, the topic dismissed. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Clarke finally decided to retrieve her fork, knowing that she needed to eat the remainder of the meal to redeem the source of energy for whatever they would face tomorrow. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Either way, a part of her knew that the idea of Bellamy Blake, fixated on <em>Metamorphoses </em>and reinforcing his literary and historical knowledge whenever anyone attempted to interject, would get her through the day all by itself.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was just the way her soul responded to him. Even if Clarke Griffin didn’t understand that yet. </p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>